Coming Back
by Flag
Summary: Steve is back from the war, but not everything is as it once was, including his friendships.


1Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine.

Steve Randle was to be found lying on the floor of his dark, dirty apartment with his hand under his bed. It was a nice day, the kind when everyone else would be found out for a leisurely walk in the park, or maybe out for a nice cooling swim. Steve had no desire to join them. He was perfectly happy in the stifling heat of his smelly apartment with no lights, for the blinds were closed and the electricity had been turned off after months of unpaid bills.

Now, where was that blasted bottle? Steve asked himself, pulling out bottle after bottle, but all were empty.

"Daniel," Steve called out, even though in the back of his mind he knew it was no use. The frontmost, most active part of his brain was telling him that if he enticed it enough, the bottle would come to his hand. Why had he named it Daniel? He couldn't remember...

"Steve," a voice said, and for a moment Steve thought that it was inside his head until he turned around and saw a person standing near the doorway. "Why don't you come outside for a while? You look like you haven't seen daylight in days..."

Steve struggled to sit up and hissed at the bright light of the day that was coming in through the open door which Two-Bit was leaning against. It was true of course; he had not seen daylight in days, probably weeks. With everyone bringing everything he needed to him, he saw no reason to venture outdoors. The last time he had been outside had been a pickup a few weeks ago, which his friends had all refused to do for him.

"I'm busy," Steve grunted, and from his position on the floor he started looking for the bottle again. Where had he left the blasted thing? He was quite sure it was not on the floor, and from the looks of it it wasn't on the over-crowded dresser. Perhaps he had left it on his bed the night before... Struggling to stand, he tried to wave Two-Bit off as the concerned friend came closer and grabbed Steve's elbow, helping him onto the bed.

"Sittin' around isn't being busy, Steve."

"Like Hell," Steve answered, not really knowing what to say. It seemed he never knew what to say anymore; stringing words together into a coherent sentence had never been so difficult and it seemed a waste of energy.

"C'mon, we can go down to the Rink and see if anyone's there."

Didn't he understand? Steve did not want to go anywhere. He was perfectly happy to sit here, not thinking, in an almost happy, blissful place. He did not want to be in crowds with loud, bothersome people, nor did he want people looking at him, wondering why he was so pale, why he had a scar on his cheek... He did not want to be with anyone.

"I ain't goin' anywhere with you, Two-Bit, so you can leave and shut the door behind you."

Two-Bit sighed a great heaving sigh and walked over to the dresser, well out of reach of Steve.

"You act like you're the only one hurtin' Steve."

Steve felt rage boil in him like water in a kettle and abandoned his search for his bottle, instead grabbing an empty one off the floor and held it by the neck.

"To Hell with you, Two-Bit!" he yelled, and once he started it was as if he could not stop. "Like you know, he was like a brother to me!" It felt good to scream, he stood up clutching his empty bottle and lurched towards Two-Bit, who did not move. His foot caught on a cardboard box in the middle of the floor and he yelled a few choice swearwords as he fell to the ground, landing on a bottle which shattered beneath him. He heard Two-Bit make a movement towards him and yelled a few more, adding, "You stay away!" at the end. A smile crossed his face when he heard Two-Bit stop.

"He was like a brother to all of us, Steve, and Hell, he was a brother to the other two... They don't sit around all day, getting drunk or puttin' all this shit into themselves." He picked up a needle off the dresser and dropped it to the ground in front of Steve, who at once felt his rage rise inside him again.

"Maybe they would if they'd seen it!" He was shouting again, and got unsteadily to his feet. "The Hell do you know, sittin' back here, all the fightin' you've got to worry about is who's takin' the baby the next week! You don't know shit, Keith!"

"You think it was bad out there, Steve? I bet it was. I bet it was Hell on earth, and I bet that this shit you're livin' in now ain't much better. What do you think it was like, back here, not knowin' what in the Hell was going on over there, whether two of your best friends were alive or dead, or bein' shot at or shootin at someone else? Hell, don't you think we all thought about it too? I don't know how many times I was back here, sittin like you are, cursin' at my mother for not havin' an older son, so I could be out there and maybe it would have been me instead of him! Hell, I wish it was me instead of him, then at least I wouldn't be here lookin' at you killin' yourself!"That had not been what Steve had been expecting, and he felt himself calming down slightly, although he still had enough anger inside him that he could kill the man in front of him. He did not know what to say, he had never thought of it before.

"You don't know what the Hell you're talking about," was his answer and he slumped his way to his bed, sitting down he started to pluck bits of glass out of his arm. They were not deep.

"We all miss him, Steve..." Although he was not looking, Steve could tell he was picking up the broken glass off the floor, and perhaps tidying up the room a little bit. With a bark of laughter, Steve remembered what it used to be like, everyone cleaning up after a drunk Two-Bit who left bottles and garbage everywhere.

That was the final straw; Steve felt sickened with himself for laughing at the thought of what Two-Bit had been, and how much worse Steve had became. Two-Bit had sobered up with time and responsibility, Steve had found his way onto a road of despair and couldn't find a way off.

"Get out, Two-Bit," Steve said, this time calmly. It was easier to be angry at someone other than himself, but he was done with screaming at the other because he was not listening. He did not understand... When he did not hear the other move, he grabbed part of the broken bottle he had landed on and lurched towards Two-Bit, his anger beating his heart and head. He did not know what he was doing; he only had to get Two-Bit out so he could continue his solitary search for his bottle.

"Alright," was all Two-Bit said as he left, slamming the door behind him.

Steve stared at the door for a moment, then let his eyes wander. He was gone, had left, just like all the others. First his mother, then Johnny, and Dally... Just when the luck seemed to end, he had lost Soda, and now, he did not know when the last time he had seen Darry or Ponyboy was. It seemed to be weeks, although he could not be sure. And now, he had lost Two-Bit and Daniel...

His eyes stopped at the sweep of the corner leading into the kitchen; there was the bottle, sitting on the floor, little of the brown liquid still in the bottle.

"He'll be back," Steve told himself as he picked up the bottle and held it in his hands, examining the contents. It was true, Two-Bit always did come back; after one fight Ponyboy had left, and Darry left after only a few. Two-Bit though... They had been going through this for months now.

"He'll be back," Steve said again, leaning against the wall and taking a long look at the bottle in his hands. It was true; Two-Bit always came back.


End file.
